


Second Chances: The Visit

by callboxkat



Series: Second Chances [8]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callboxkat/pseuds/callboxkat
Summary: Between some difficulty getting along with his coworkers and the quickly approaching visit with his parents, Roman has a lot on his mind. He can only hope that things will turn out well.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton, Joan Stokes & Talyn, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Logicality, Platonic Analogince - Relationship, platonic Prinxiety
Series: Second Chances [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1126242
Comments: 27
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very excited to finally bring you guys this next installment of Second Chances! The second half should be out in a few days. Until then, enjoy this one :)

Roman received his first paycheck on the Friday of his first week at the Sanders Café. He didn’t have an account set up yet for it to be directly deposited into—he and Logan were planning to take care of that over the weekend—so this first one was a literal paper check.

Roman was very excited, practically jogging back to the house. When he arrived, he immediately tried to give the check to Patton, in return for letting him stay at the house.

Patton turned him down, cheerfully saying that Roman didn’t owe them anything, and he wasn’t going to take his money. Roman probably should have expected that. He knew that Patton had benefited a lot from the kindness of strangers in his past—of course someone like him would try to pay that forward.

So, when Logan got home, Roman went to him instead and tried again to hand over his check, figuring that Logan was more likely to agree to the exchange. However, Logan just shook his head and pushed it back to him. “That’s yours, Roman. Maybe you can contribute something with future checks, but you should build up some savings for yourself, first.”

Roman had tried to insist, but Logan wasn’t budging, so he’d finally given up. He did have one more idea.

Maybe Patton and Logan had flatly turned him down, but surely there was one person who wouldn’t refuse some compensation for him being there. She hadn’t wanted him there to begin with, after all, and even though she had accepted him now, he still felt that she was the most likely to accept his offering.

This was how he found himself outside Val’s bedroom that evening, his paycheck clutched in one hand. He knocked with the other.

“It’s open,” she called.

Roman opened the door, staying in the hall. Val was sitting at her desk, painting her nails.

“Oh, hey, Roman,” she said, putting the brush back in the bottle and inspecting her handiwork. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Val,” he responded. He looked down at the check in his hand. “I wanted to ask… Pat and Logan wouldn’t take it, but….” He held out the check. “For uh, rent, I guess.”

“Is that your first paycheck?”

Roman nodded.

Val shook her head. “No, I’m not taking your money. Even if I wanted to, Patton would kill me. Or make my brother kill me.”

Roman sighed. He’d gotten this job in the first place so that he could help out and stop being a freeloader, and now not one of them was letting him do that!

“You know what you _should_ spend some of that on?”

Roman looked up. “What?”

“You’re going to see your parents, right? You should use that for your ticket.”

“ _Mamá_ already paid for it,” Roman said. “She won’t let me pay her back, either.” She’d probably throw a fit if he tried.

“Okay, Plan B.” Val got up, stepped out into the hall, and closed the door behind her. “Let’s go get your parents a present. What do they like?”

“Weren’t you painting your nails?”

“Just finished. They’ll dry on the way. Now what do your parents like?”

Roman hesitated. “My _mamá_ likes to garden.”

“Okay. Let’s go get her a plant. I bet she’d love something with flowers. What about your dad?”

“He… I don’t know. He’s really into birdwatching, I guess? But I don’t know what you’d get someone for that.”

“What else does he like?”

Roman dithered uncertainly. “Well, he used to collect a bunch of really old coins… but I don’t know where we’d find something like that.”

Val looked thoughtful. “I came across a site a while back where you can buy old Roman coins for like ten bucks each. Does that sound like something he’d like? If we ordered it today I’m sure it’d be here by the time you leave next week.”

“I—yeah, I think so,” Roman said, having the sudden urge to hug Val. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “No problem. Let’s go downstairs; we can pick one out, and you’ll pay me back once you deposit that check of yours.”

…

They ended up choosing a coin that was about $15, with positive reviews, guaranteed to arrive well before he left. Val placed the order, and then she took Roman to a garden store.

“Sure, you could wait and go with Patton and my brother, but my brother has no taste in plants, and Patton’ll probably buy whatever plant looks the saddest because he feels bad for it. Or end up accidentally getting a plastic one. You think I’m joking, but he literally did that once.”

So, Val and Roman went to the garden store alone. They picked out a little plant with small blue flowers, in a cute ceramic pot that had been glazed a darker blue.

Patton and Logan were sitting at the kitchen table when they walked in.

“What’s that?” Patton asked when he saw the plant in Roman’s arms.

“Present for my _mamá_ ,” Roman explained. “Val took me to get it.”

“Oh, she’s going to love that, kiddo!”

Roman smiled. “You think so?”

“Of course! It’s so pretty. What kind is it?”

“It’s…” Roman checked the label. “It’s a… myositis. Forget-me-nots.”

“Oh, cool!” Patton said.

“That can’t be right,” Logan said, frowning. “Myositis is a term for muscle inflammation.”

Roman blinked, then checked the tag again. “Sorry, it’s myos _o_ tis.”

“That does make more sense,” Logan said. “Interesting. Were you aware that that name translates to “mouse’s ear” in Ancient Greek?”

“ _Why_ do you know that?” Roman asked, staring at him. “Who just knows things like that off the top of their head?”

Val started snickering. Logan shrugged, looking embarrassed.

…

Roman was starting to think that being homeless and unemployed hadn’t been so bad. At least then he hadn’t had to deal with this hell spawn.

“I can’t do it!” Roman wailed as he flung open the door (while still making sure it didn’t smack the wall). “I can’t do it! He is the _worst!_ ”

Patton, who had been standing at the kitchen counter, cutting up vegetables, set down his knife, looking concerned.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Roman sighed, walking over to him. He put his elbows on the counter and hid his face in his hands. “It’s this guy I work with.”

“Your manager? Thomas?” Patton guessed.

“No, not him—he’s great. The other one.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He _hates_ me, and I don’t know why!”

“Come on, kiddo, I’m sure that’s not true.” Patton picked up the knife and started slicing carrots again, still watching him between cuts to show he was paying attention.

“It is! He acts like every time I mess up, I’m doing it just to spite him, and then he gets on my back about it, which only makes me mess up _more_ , and then he gets even _more_ annoyed at me….”

“Could it just be growing pains? It’s only your second week. Maybe he just needs some time to get used to you.”

“I thought so too, but…” Roman sighed heavily. “It is _not_ working.”

Patton paused. “If it’s really so bad, maybe you could look into possibly working somewhere else? Tons of places would be lucky to have you.”

Roman looked up sharply. “No… no, I’m not doing that.” He shook his head. “I do that, he wins.”

Patton bit his lip uncertainly.

“At least tomorrow is his day off,” Roman sighed. “So I get a break.”

“Well, that’s good,” Patton said. He pushed the carrots into a bowl with the potatoes he’d already cubed, and he picked up an onion. As he started to peel the skin off of that, he said, “Maybe it’ll be nice for both of you to get a break from each other. It could be you’ve just spent too much time together lately.”

“Yeah. Could be. I just don’t know what his problem is.”

Patton glanced up, humming thoughtfully. “Do you think any of this has anything to do with your visit coming up?”

Roman hesitated. “Maybe,” he admitted.

A major source of stress for him at the moment—maybe the _main_ source of stress—was the fact that he was set to visit his parents at the end of the week, for the first time in a long time. If you considered five years to be a long time.

It certainly didn’t help that at the start of those five years, Roman had lied to them about heading to college and basically vanished off the face of the earth, leaving them with no idea where he had gone or if he was even still alive. That is, until Patton and Logan had convinced him to call his _mamá_ the week before.

Ever since then, he had been calling her every evening before dinner, to talk. Mostly, they talked about unimportant things. How their days had been (Roman always sugar-coated things if they hadn’t gone well), what they were up to (you know, besides the homelessness), and how much they were looking forward to seeing each other when Roman was able to get enough time off for a visit.

Getting the time off he needed had turned out to be easier than expected. Roman’s schedule already gave him weekends free, so he had only requested one additional day—a Monday.

He hadn’t been sure whether to be relieved or sad that he had had to wait an additional week to go, since they’d been understandably reluctant to give him a day off in his second week on the job.

Of course, both Thomas and V, all that Roman knew his other coworker by, knew that Roman was taking the day off. Thomas hadn’t seemed to mind coming in on that Monday—since he usually took that day off—but V hadn’t seemed all that enthused. The fact that Roman was taking a long weekend after only working at the Sanders Café for only two weeks hadn’t helped the barista’s opinion of him.

As one might imagine, Roman’s stress about the upcoming visit did not go well with the attitude V took with him, and it had already lead to several clashes.

As exemplified by today.

“Want to help me cut up some veggies?” Patton asked. “We’re going to roast them for dinner later tonight. Maybe it’ll help to take out some of that stress on an onion.” He picked up the newly peeled onion and offered it to Roman.

Roman sighed. “Sure.” He went to the sink, washed his hands, and took the onion and knife from Patton. “How do you want this cut?”

“However you like, within reason!” Patton said. “How about I heat up some leftovers for you, for lunch, while you do that? We’ve still got some spaghetti.”

“Sounds good. Thank you, Patton.”

…

Patton sat curled up on the sofa with Logan, only half-watching the news that his boyfriend had put on. After a while, he stretched and sat up.

“I’m going to go check on Roman. He seemed pretty upset when he came home from work today.”

Logan frowned, turning to look at him. “Did he say what was going on?”

“Some kind of disagreement with someone he works with. But I think he’s really just stressed about this weekend.”

Logan nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

“Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Logan reached out, held his hand for a fraction of a second, and then let Patton go. Patton got up, walked past Val, who was reading, and went upstairs.

He stopped outside Roman’s room, whose door was slightly ajar, and knocked softly. “Roman?” he asked.

He waited, but he didn’t get an answer, so he tried again. When that still went without a reply, Patton gently pushed open the door, wondering if maybe Roman had fallen asleep.

The room was empty.

“Hm.” Patton leaned forwards to look around inside the room, but unsurprisingly, Roman wasn’t hiding in any corners.

He backed up, returned the door to how it had been before, and looked around.

Finally, he realized that he could hear something, faint, but not so faint that he thought it was coming from downstairs. Patton followed the sound.

Was that singing?

He stopped outside the bathroom, which was dark other than the light let in through the tiny, curtained window, but whose door wasn’t quite closed.

Roman stood in front of the sink, singing a song that Patton didn’t recognize. He was singing very quietly, but it was like he was serenading himself, complete with acting.

He also looked like he’d been crying.

Patton, who had been about to knock before he caught a glimpse of Roman in the mirror, stepped back before Roman could spot him. He did want to stay and try to help, but he really felt like he was intruding. Whatever Roman was doing, it seemed to be some kind of self-soothing method. Maybe it was a little unusual to serenade oneself in the mirror, but if it helped cheer Roman up, then Patton wasn’t going to judge him.

Patton quietly padded back down the hall and went back downstairs.

He settled himself back against Logan, who took his hand again. Patton read a headline on the TV screen about that week’s tragedy and sighed, turning his head so his face was against Logan.

“How’s Roman?” Logan asked, subtly changing the channel to one showing reruns of an old sitcom. “Did you talk to him?”

“He didn’t seem like he wanted to be bothered,” Patton replied, looking up again.

Logan nodded in understanding, although he was frowning.

“Is he okay?” Val asked as she turned a page in her book.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “He’s really nervous about this weekend.”

Logan fiddled with the remote without actually changing any settings. “I’d assume he’s afraid that his parents will reject him,” he said.

Val gave him a look. “Please don’t say that when he’s down here.”

“I don’t think it’s _likely_ ,” Logan quickly clarified. “They’ve seemed eager to talk to him thus far.”

“They’d better not turn him away,” Patton said. “I’ll fight them.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t be fighting anyone. Besides, if they were going to turn him away, I’m sure it would have happened by now.”

Val closed her book, resting her head on one hand. “Whether it’s realistic or not, he’s obviously upset. And it’s probably not helping him, locking himself away upstairs with his thoughts. We should ask him to come downstairs in a few minutes. He likes to help with dinner, right?”

Patton glanced at the time. “That’s true. We should probably start cooking soon.”

“You cut up the vegetables like I asked?” Logan checked.

“Yep! Roman and I did.”

“Thanks. It shouldn’t take too long, then.”

Val set her book to the side. “Should I go grab him then, or…?”

“I’ll give him a few more minutes and then I’ll do it,” Patton said.

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, Patton walked back up the stairs. He was relieved to see that the light was on in Roman’s room now.

He knocked on the door, and waited for an answer.

A moment later, the door opened, to reveal Roman. He smiled, and if Patton hadn’t seen him before, he might not have known Roman had been so upset. “Hey, Patton. What’s going on?”

Patton smiled back, deciding not to bring it up. “We were planning to start dinner soon. Want to help?”

…

Roman had been making a point of getting to work early ever since his mistake the week before. So, it was no surprise that he was the first employee to arrive at the café that morning. It was a surprise, though, when neither V nor Thomas showed up. Instead, two younger employees, probably 18 years old or so, took their places: Talyn and Joan. Roman had worked with each of them before when they occasionally joined his shift, but never at the same time.

“Is Thomas not coming?” Roman asked, watching as the pair approached. He’d known it was V’s day off, and that Thomas didn’t come in every day, but usually their manager worked whenever V didn’t.

“He’s sick,” Talyn said, pulling on their apron. Joan went into the back to put their things away.

“Oh. Is he okay?”

Talyn shrugged. “He calls in sometimes. He asked me to take his place today.”

“Okay.”

“Joan and I can finish getting everything set up back here. Want to take the chairs down?”

“Sure.” Roman walked out from behind the counter to do just that.

“So how are you liking this place so far?” they asked as Joan returned from the back.

“It’s alright,” Roman shrugged. When V wasn’t getting on his last nerve, at least.

“Just alright?” Joan asked.

Roman flushed slightly. He didn’t want to complain about his job, not _at_ _his job_ , to his _coworkers_. That didn’t seem like a good plan at all.

Joan laughed. “Relax, I’m just teasing. It can be tough, at the start. Customers are something else. Plus I know Virgil can be prickly.”

Roman blinked. “What?”

“Virgil?” Joan looked confused. “The barista you work with?”

“Oh, right, sorry. I didn’t quite hear you,” Roman lied. He had a feeling he’d get teased if he admitted he’d gone nearly two weeks only knowing Virgil as V, or as the numerous aliases of the other worker’s name tag collection. “Glad to hear it’s not just me.”

“Has Virgil been treating you okay?” Talyn asked.

“Yeah. He can be kinda pushy, but he’s okay… most of the time. I do like his name tag collection.” Roman had tried to compliment Virgil on one of the name tags, pointing out that it was funny that the barista chose to wear one that said “Mary Lee”, and had only gotten even more hostility in response. Maybe Virgil didn’t want Roman to acknowledge that the name tags didn’t have the barista’s actual name on them? Maybe Virgil misunderstood, and thought Roman was making fun of whoever the actual Mary Lee was?

Whatever the case, trying to be that creepy cookie’s friend was proving rather difficult. Thomas’s “Storm Cloud” nickname made a lot of sense.

Talyn bit their lip, glancing at Joan, then looked back at Roman. Roman blinked, unsure what that was about. “Virgil can take a while to warm up to people, sometimes,” they said. “It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

Not long after, it was time to open up the café, and the attention of the three baristas was diverted to the grumpy swarm of early morning coffee-seekers.

It was a busy morning, with a lot of disgruntled people who thought they were entitled to their caffeine before anyone else and didn’t even tip well (if at all), but at least Talyn and Joan didn’t get mad at Roman for spilling a few coffee grounds, or for nearly forgetting the whipped cream on one of the orders. That was a welcome change.

Still, that afternoon, Roman spent most of his time holed up in the former guest room, trying not to stress too much about the next day, which was, of course, his last day of work before he got to go see his parents for the first time in years and hope they wouldn’t turn him away.

…

The following day, Virgil was back at work. And as tired of Roman was of his coworker hounding him like every little mistake he made would bring on the apocalypse, he _did_ have some new information at his disposal, and he was going to take advantage of it.

Roman looked up as the barista came in, reluctantly lowering the headphones that had doubtlessly been blasting some sort of emo music moments before.

“Hey, Virgil,” he said pointedly, grinning.

Virgil hardly bothered to glance up, grabbing one of the aprons that still hung on the wall. “Hey, Princey.”

Roman was almost offended by that lackluster response. “How’s it going, _Virgil?_ ” he tried again, louder and with more emphasis.

“Fine?” Virgil said, giving him a strange look. “How’s it going, _Roman?_ ”

Roman sighed. “Disappointing.”

“What?”

Whoops. Virgil wasn’t supposed to actually hear that. He scrambled for an excuse. “…I said disappearing. The sun is gonna be disappearing sooner. The days are getting shorter again. You know.”

Virgil glanced outside, at where the sun was just beginning to rise, bemused. “I guess?”

“Aaaanyway. How was your day off?” Roman asked, tying his own apron in place.

“It was great. I actually got to miss the sunrise, for once.” Virgil started taking down chairs from the tables, putting them in place on the floor. “It was over pretty fast, though. Sure would be nice to take three days off in a row.”

Roman frowned.

“What are you doing this weekend, anyway? Video games? Binging _Lord of the Rings_ or something?”

Roman let out a long sigh. “I’m visiting my parents,” he reluctantly admitted. “I haven’t seen them in a while.” Ever since Virgil had found out about Roman’s days off so soon after starting the job, Roman had skirted around answering the question of why he was taking that break. And while it still wasn’t really any of Virgil’s business, Roman was getting tired of this, and really didn’t want to deal with passive aggression when he was already worried enough. Today was Friday, and Roman was getting on the bus to go see his family that very afternoon.

Virgil’s mouth thinned. “Oh.”

The other barista turned away without another word, and didn’t bring up Roman’s days off again that shift. Roman felt that this was worth the admission. It would have probably been nearly unbearable otherwise, since Thomas was apparently still not feeling well, so it was just the two of them for the entire shift. As it was, other than Thomas being gone, Roman might have said that things were going… at least sort of well. Virgil wasn’t getting on his back too much, he wasn’t messing up as much as he’d expected, given how much he was thinking about that weekend (although he still messed up quite a bit more than usual). But of course, his luck couldn’t last.

He took a break during a lull in customers, and he came back, opening his mouth to tell Virgil to go ahead and take a break in the back, now.

But no words came out of his mouth. Instead, he froze.

Standing in the middle of the café, reading the menu, was a familiar figure. His dark hair was swept to partially cover his face, and he wore a black faux leather jacket over a band t-shirt.

_Jay._

Roman felt dizzy.

“Roman?”

Roman shook his head, took a step back, and then sat down hard on the tile floor.

“Roman! F*ck, okay, hold on—Sorry, sir, get out, please! The store’s closed! Bye!”

“What the hell are you talking ab—”

“Store’s closed!”

Virgil herded the guy out, and as he disappeared out the door, Roman got a better look at his face. It wasn’t Jay at all. Just some guy who looked ridiculously _like_ Jay.

“Dammit,” he whispered, wishing this realization would stop his heart from pounding, would erase the way he’d just embarrassed himself, was _continuing_ to embarrass himself.

Virgil knelt down in front of him, hovering uncertainly. “Hey. Hey, Princey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Roman shook his head, his attempts to breathe only strangled gasps. It was all just too much. The stress of this new job, and the visit this weekend, and thinking he’d seen Jay, who’d been a catalyst in all of this— It was too much.

“I think you might be having a panic attack.” Virgil shifted uncertainly, hovering around him. “Does that sound right?”

Roman shakily nodded.

“Okay. Okay, good. No ambulance, then. That’s great. I mean, not great that you’re panicking, that—never mind. Can I help?”

“Yeah,” he gasped. _Please make this stop._

“Cool. Cool, cool. Try breathing with me. It’s an exercise I use when I get anxiety attacks.” Virgil started with a long inhale, counting off a pattern.

“In, 2, 3, 4… hold, 2 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… out, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.”

Roman did his best to follow the pattern, with difficulty at first; but soon enough, rather than freaking out, he was a more reasonable amount of mortified, and this time more about the fact that he’d freaked out in the middle of the café, in front of Virgil, than about anything else.

Virgil seemed relieved when it was clear that Roman was no longer panicking. The barista looked him over for a moment, then offered him a hand up.

“I think maybe you should go in the back for a little longer,” Virgil suggested as Roman was pulled to his feet. “I can take my break later.”

“…Yeah, maybe,” Roman admitted, not meeting Virgil’s eyes. “Might be a good idea.”

Virgil led him to the back room, shoved a plastic cup of tea in his hands, and promised to return in a bit.

Roman sat there, sipping his tea, wishing he could sink into the floor.

Several minutes later, Virgil returned.

“Sorry,” Roman said as soon as he saw that distinctive purple hair, gripping his cooling cup of tea tightly. “I didn’t….”

Virgil sat down on the arm of the sofa. “What was that about?”

Roman shook his head.

Virgil sighed, glancing back towards the main area of the store. “Fine, don’t tell me. But are you, like… good? You’re not going to freak out on me again?”

“No, I’m… I’m fine.”

Virgil looked at him doubtfully. Roman set his jaw, and then Virgil nodded. “Alright. Maybe clean yourself up a bit, though.”

Roman felt his cheeks burn. He nodded.

As Virgil turned to leave, Roman cleared his throat.

“…Thanks, Virgo.”

Virgil paused, turned, and said, “I’m a Sagittarius,” before leaving the room.

Under different circumstances, Roman might have laughed. As it was, he simply took a deep breath, set the remains of his tea to the side, got to his feet, and went to the employee bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he had to admit he looked rather… disheveled. He’d definitely seen worse days, that was for sure; but his hair was a mess, and his eyes were red and watery like he’d been crying.

( _Had_ he been crying? He suddenly wasn’t sure.)

Roman reached over for a paper towel, folded it over, and ran the water over it for a second. He stood there at the sink for a while, the cool, damp paper towel held against his eyes. Once the redness had died down, he combed his hair with his fingers until it was back to its normal groomed appearance. Finally, he took a deep, steadying breath, washed his hands, and returned to the front of the store. Virgil looked up when he appeared, in the middle of making a cappuccino, and nodded.

Roman resumed his post without a word, and they both pretended like nothing had happened.

When Roman went back to the house that afternoon, he didn’t complain about Virgil, for once. Of course, he did have other things to think about. Like the little detail that he was leaving in only a couple of hours.

…

“Are you sure you have everything?” Logan asked as the trio walked to the bus station. They’d parked a couple of blocks away, since the parking spots at the station itself were metered, and rather expensive. Logan had offered to park there anyway, but Roman had insisted that he was fine with parking farther away. It was a nice day, anyhow; and he would be spending quite a while on a bus. “There’s still a little time, if we have to stop somewhere.”

“I think so,” Roman said, adjusting his grip on the handle of the small, baby blue suitcase Patton had lent him. It rolled behind them, occasionally bumping over an uneven patch of sidewalk. “I don’t have a lot of stuff.”

“And you’re sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Patton checked. He held the small potted plant that Roman and Val had picked up as a present for Roman’s _mamá_. He almost seemed more nervous than Roman. Almost.

Roman swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure. It’s just a bus ride. My parents are going to pick me up at the station.”

Patton reached over to squeeze his hand. “They know what time you’re getting in?”

Roman nodded. “And I can always call, if I need to…. Thanks again for the phone, by the way.” They’d picked him up a cheap, prepaid one for emergencies, since Roman hadn’t had a phone of his own in a very long time.

“It’s no problem,” Patton said. “Just be safe, okay?”

Roman gave him a shaky smile.

“There’s the station,” Logan said, gesturing across the street. “Which bus are we looking for?”

“17,” Roman provided. He didn’t even need to check his ticket. He’d spent long enough staring at it the night before.

Logan glanced to make sure no cars were coming, then started across the street. He and Patton were already scanning the busses collected at the station, looking for the correct one.

“I don’t think it’s here yet,” Logan said. “That’s not surprising. We are early, after all.”

“Let’s find a bench to sit on,” Patton suggested.

Logan didn’t exactly look enthused, but he went along with Patton’s suggestion. They found an empty bench, and Roman and Patton sat down. There was still room on the bench, but Logan stayed standing.

“Perhaps I could pick us up some coffee from inside,” he suggested.

Patton giggled. “Only if Roman’s not sick of coffee yet.”

Roman cracked a smile. “Maybe just water for me. Lemonade if they have it. But water’s okay.”

Patton requested whatever coffee drink was the sweetest, iced.

Logan nodded and walked off towards the station’s building.

“He just doesn’t want to sit down,” Patton said, leaning over conspiratorially. “Logan hates public benches.”

“Logan hates public everything.”

“You’re not wrong!” he laughed. He set the plant at his side. “So, do you and your parents know what you’re going to do this weekend?”

Roman thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” He’d been too busy worrying.

“You don’t always need a plan. Maybe it’ll be nice to just get to hang out with them, catch up.”

“Or awkward as hell.”

“Ehh.” Patton shrugged. “Maybe at first, I won’t lie to you.”

“Yeah.”

“But they’re going to be really happy to see you. I’m sure they’ve missed you a lot.”

“…Yeah.” Roman knew they had. But he couldn’t help the terror bubbling up inside him, just under the surface, at what they would think when they saw him. At how angry they would be.

Apparently Roman’s silent dread had not been as hidden as he’d hoped.

“Don’t make me hug you,” Patton threatened, pointing at him.

Roman let out a startled laugh.

“I’ll do it! You know I will!”

“I do,” Roman agreed. He watched as another bus pulled up. Number 33. Still not his.

“They did have lemonade,” a voice said. Roman glanced up to see Logan, holding out a bottled lemonade. He took it. It was cool and already slightly damp with condensation.

“Thanks.”

Logan offered Patton another drink from the carrier in his arms. His was a very pale brown, mixed with ice and with whipped cream and drizzles of caramel and chocolate on top.

“Ooh, thank you!” Patton said. He hopped up, kissed Logan on the cheek, and then sat down, sipping loudly from his straw.

Logan coughed, his face slightly red. “You’re welcome. Has his bus arrived?”

“Not ye—oh! There it is!” Patton pointed. A new bus had just pulled in, the number 17 in its window.

“Excellent.”

Roman leaned over to look at a clock on the station wall. He still had ten minutes before he had to be on the bus. Reassured, he sat back and opened his lemonade, taking a sip. Then he recapped it and put the lemonade in his lap, tapping on its sides with his fingers. “You guys don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’ll be fine.”

“No, no,” Patton insisted. “We’re going to make sure you get on your bus alright.”

“It would be rather unfortunate if we left early, and something happened,” Logan agreed.

Roman exhaled through his nose. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Yep! Besides, I can’t finish this in the car.” Patton took another loud sip of his drink. “So we’ve gotta stay!”

“True.” Logan was generally pretty insistent about there being no open drinks in his car. Or at least, that was the idea Roman had gotten so far.

Logan took a drink of his own iced black coffee and shrugged. “Coffee would be difficult to get out of the upholstery,” he justified. “Like any darkly colored beverage. One time, one of Val’s friends spilled fruit punch in her car. It was a figurative nightmare to get that out. I refuse to go through that again with my own vehicle.”

Roman glanced at Patton, who looked amused. “That’s fair.”

A few more minutes passed, with the three of the just enjoying their drinks, before Patton glanced at the time on his phone. “We should probably get you on that bus, don’t you think, Ro? You don’t want to get a bad seat.”

Roman shifted. “…I guess.”

Patton looked at him sympathetically. “Don’t worry. You’ll be okay.” He stood up, grabbing the plant; and Roman reluctantly followed, pulling the suitcase along behind himself.

In no time at all, they stood in front of the bus door, and Patton was handing the plant off to Logan and pulling Roman into a tight hug.

“Don’t be afraid to call us if you need anything at all, okay? I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now go see your parents.”

“Have a pleasant trip,” Logan said as Patton released him. He offered a hand, and Roman accepted. Logan shook it.

“Thanks. I’ll… see you guys.”

“Good luck.”

Roman took a deep breath, picked up the suitcase and took the plant back from Logan, and stepped up onto the bus before he could change his mind.

“Hello, sweetheart,” the driver said, smiling kindly at him. She was probably in her fifties, and had clearly noticed how apprehensive he was. She held out a hand. “Have you got your ticket?”

“Yeah—um,” Roman pulled it out of his pocket, quickly did his best to smooth it out, and handed it over. “Here.”

The woman looked at it for a second, smiled, and handed it back. “Welcome aboard. Usually, we have everyone put their luggage in the storage area under the bus, but I think yours is small enough that you can keep it up here, if you’d like. We don’t have a full bus today. Do you have a preference?”

“Could I keep it?” Roman asked. It was Patton’s suitcase, and he was afraid that it might get damaged—or worse, disappear—if he let it out of his sight.

“Of course. You can go ahead and pick whatever seat you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Roman said. He turned to the rest of the bus, which was about a quarter of the way full with other passengers. He picked a seat about a third of the way from the front, beside the window, and put Patton’s suitcase and his _mamá_ ’s gift at his side.

He looked out the window, and saw Patton and Logan there, on the sidewalk. Patton noticed him and perked up, waving and batting at his boyfriend to get his attention. Logan waved as well, with significantly less energy, looking amused.

Roman hesitantly waved back.

He spent the remaining time until the bus departed just trying to keep calm, reminding himself that he did in fact want to do this, that it was a little late to back out even if he wanted to, and that even if his visit went about as horribly as it could go, Logan and Patton had _promised_ that they wanted him to come back.

Finally, the bus driver stood up. She reminded everyone of which bus this was and the route they were taking, just in case someone was on the wrong bus, and how long the trip would take. Then, she sat back down, and they left the station.

Patton and Logan waved until they turned a corner, and then Roman was alone.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned to the suitcase. He unzipped it and pulled out a book, which Logan had lent him for the trip. He settled in, doing his best to focus on the story rather than on his fear over what was to come.


	2. Chapter 2

It was sunset by the time the bus pulled into its destination.

Roman stared out the window at the station as they approached, searching the small crowd for familiar faces. He wasn’t quite sure whether or not he wanted to find them.

As the bus came to a stop, Roman turned away from the window and slid Logan’s book back into the suitcase, zipped that shut, and picked it up. He waited for everyone ahead of him to file off of the bus, and then followed suit, clutching the flower pot to his chest.

His legs might have been shaking rather badly, but he did his best to ignore that fact.

His shoes hit the asphalt, and a cool wind ruffled his hair. He breathed in deeply and stepped up onto the curb, searching the crowd.

He thought he recognized a few people, people he’d perhaps gone to high school with or seen around town when he was younger; but it was entirely possible that he was simply feeling paranoid, like the earlier incident at the café.

He walked through the crowd, feeling very nervous and rather lost. As the seconds passed with no sign of his parents, he was beginning to think that maybe they had changed their minds, that maybe they had decided they didn’t want to see him after all, that maybe he’d made a mistake in thinking that he’d get to just see them again after lying to them and disappearing for so long.

And then he saw them.

They were about twenty feet away, watching what Roman realized was the wrong bus. Both of them had more gray hairs than Roman remembered, and his dad looked thinner, but it was them. It was really them. A rush of excitement went through his body… only to be instantly overwhelmed by fear. 

Roman stared at them, suddenly unable to move.

Just then, Roman’s _mamá_ turned, and _she_ saw _him_.

There was no anger on her face, only joy as she gasped, running for him.

Roman let out a laugh that may or may not have strongly resembled a sob, and jogged towards his parents before he could overthink things any more.

“Dad! _Mamá_!”

People were quick to get out of the way, even if they griped about it; and then she was hugging him; and she smelled just like the same combination of cinnamon and perfume that she always did; and Roman was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, needing to say it again, to their faces. His _mamá_ shushed him, kissed him on either cheek, then just held his head between her hands, searching his face. Her eyes were filled with tears.

 _“Mijo,”_ she whispered. _“Mijo, mijo, estás aquí.”_

“I’m here,” he assured her, his voice breaking.

“Maybe we should go to the car,” Roman’s dad said, standing to the side. “We’re making a scene.”

Roman’s _mamá_ sniffled, nodding. “Yes, yes, of course—you are right.” She pulled back from the hug slightly. “Oh, you are so thin….”

She reluctantly released him, but kept one of Roman’s hands in a firm grip as they made their way out of the crowd and away from the bus station.

“Oh—um, I got this for you.”

His _mamá_ paused, apparently only then noticing the small, flowering plant that Roman had barely managed not to drop or allow to get squashed during their hug.

“For me?” she repeated.

Roman nodded.

“Thank you, _mijo. Las flores son bonitas_.”

“They’re forget-me-nots.”

“Oh, I would never forget you.”

Roman smiled, ducking his head slightly. “And Dad, I….” He fished a small box out of his pocket and handed it over. “This is for you.”

“I’ll open it in the car,” his dad promised, giving him a side-hug. They started walking again.

“We drove here together,” his _mamá_ said. “We both wanted to ride back with you.”

Roman frowned, and he took only a few more steps before coming to a stop. “Why—why wouldn’t you have driven here together?”

His parents glanced at each other, and then back at him. His _mamá_ reached up and rubbed his back.

“Roman,” his dad began, avoiding looking at either of them, “you have to understand, it’s been a long time since you left.”

Roman glanced between them. He realized he couldn’t feel the ring on his _mamá’_ s finger where she gently rubbed his back. “Wait. No.” _Please don’t let them say what I think they’re going to say._

His dad let out a long, weary sigh. “We got divorced two years ago.”

“We wanted to tell you in person, _cariño_ ,” his _mamá_ added. “We decided it wasn’t a… phone conversation.”

Roman didn’t know what to say. Except, very softly… “Was it my fault?”

They glanced at each other again.

“No,” his _mamá_ said. “No, Roman. It was… it was a lot of things.”

Roman wasn’t sure he quite believed her, but he just nodded and allowed himself to be led to the car. It was his _mamá_ ’s car, the same one he remembered. The tassel Roman had worn at his high school graduation no longer hung from the mirror. He forced himself not to read into that.

He got in the backseat, and they drove.

…

Being back in his home town was strange.

A lot had changed in the five years he’d been gone. Things looked older, there were new buildings where there had once been empty lots (or different buildings), and there were empty lots where other buildings had once been.

Most of it, though, looked just the same, which was somehow stranger than what _had_ changed.

It took him a while to realize that the car wasn’t going the way he would have expected to get to his parents’ house. He didn’t mention it, though. The atmosphere in the car was rather awkward, and Roman was content to stare out the window rather than break the silence just yet. After their initial greetings, and the bombshell of breaking the news of the divorce to Roman, no one had seemed sure of what to say to each other.

There had been one brief respite, when Roman’s dad had opened his gift. He had been impressed when he saw the ancient coin that Val had helped Roman pick out. But that conversation had only lasted so long, and they fell back into quietness again.

What did you say to your parents after lying about going to college, disappearing for five years, becoming homeless, and then one day calling them out of the blue to tell them that you were not, in fact, dead?

Yeah, Roman didn’t know, either. “Sorry” probably didn’t cut it.

Sure, they’d been talking on the phone every night for over a week since then; but this was different. This was _in person_.

The changed route made sense when they reached their destination: It was _not_ the house he and his parents had lived in when he was younger. Of course it wasn’t—he should have realized. Why would his parents still share a home, if they were divorced? And why would one of them pay to live alone in a home built for four? Neither case made sense.

He didn’t recognize the house they pulled up to. It was a small, modest home, painted a pastel yellow. Hostas lined the walkway up to the door, which was a pale gray. Flowerbeds decorated both sides of the house, filled with various flourishing plants. A small, frosted window was set into the door. It was a cute house, Roman had to admit.

“This is your _mamá_ ’s place,” his dad said, sounding unsure of how Roman would react. “We’ve set up the guest room for you.”

Roman stared at the house for a long moment before he unbuckled his seatbelt. His dad grabbed the little suitcase, and they all went inside.

Roman’s dad turned to his ex-wife as they entered the house. “Is it alright if I take him to his room?”

“Of course,” Roman’s _mamá_ replied, locking the door behind them. “I will come with you.”

They walked upstairs. Roman’s _mamá_ opened the second door, and Roman stepped through it, into….

His room.

 _It was his room_.

Everything was arranged how it had been in the old house, down to the placement of the posters on the walls and the pillows on the bed. He bet that if he checked the dresser drawers, the clothes he hadn’t brought to “college” would be there. It was much cleaner than Roman had ever kept his room as a kid; and some of his knick-knacks and toys appeared to be missing; but he could see some boxes under the bed; and he guessed he could find them there. Small details like that aside, the similarity was striking.

“You kept my things,” he finally said, sounding rather shell-shocked.

“Of course we did,” his _mamá_ said. “I… we always hoped… you might come back,” she admitted.

Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Oh,” he said, his voice cracking.

“We’ve missed you,” his dad said from the doorway.

“If there is anything you want to take, you can,” his _mamá_ said. “It is all still yours, after all.”

Roman sat down on the bed. The sheets felt freshly washed.

“Took a while to get everything just right,” his dad was saying. “The room dimensions are a little different than the old one. I think we got it, though.”

“Yeah,” Roman said softly, looking around. “You did.”

It was strange.

“So, your _mamá_ and I were thinking of making _encebollado_ soup tonight,” his dad said, changing the subject. He set down Roman’s borrowed suitcase on the floor, beside the desk.

Roman looked over at him, daring to smile. “Since when do you know how to make _encebollado_?”

“Okay, your _mamá_ was thinking of making it.”

“I would appreciate some help, if you want to give it,” his _mamá_ tempted.

“I’d love to,” Roman said, and he meant it.

…

Roman and his _mamá_ split the work of cutting everything up for the _encebollado_ , including the fish, onions, tomatoes, and yuca.

Once that was done, Roman’s _mamá_ took care of putting everything together into the soup, adding pickled onions and plenty of spices.

Meanwhile, Roman was put to work cutting up the avocado and limes, as well as the plantains for a side dish. He put the sliced avocado and quartered limes each into a bowl and set those at the table before returning to cook the slices of plantain.

“Not too long, _mijo_ ,” His _mamá_ said, watching. “They could burn.”

“I like mine crispy,” he reminded her.

(That brief exchange felt so much like one they might have had years ago, before everything changed, that Roman froze for a second, and had to minutely shake himself to get back to what he was doing.)

“It smells amazing,” his dad chimed in. He was mainly serving as a cheerleader where he sat at the kitchen table, commenting on how great everything looked and smelled. He wasn’t a great cook, and Roman’s _mamá_ didn’t trust him to operate a cutting board. Probably for good reason.

Roman glanced up to see him stealing an avocado slice.

“Hey, I saw that,” he said, his heart beating faster as he tried to take on a joking tone.

Thankfully, his dad just smirked. “Saw what?” he asked, taking another slice.

Roman pointed the spatula at him as if in warning, narrowing his eyes.

His dad stuck the avocado slice in his mouth and smiled. Roman gasped as if affronted by his audacity.

Roman’s _mamá_ seemed amused (and possibly relieved) by their antics. “How was your trip, _mijo_?” she asked, stirring the soup. Roman’s dad was right. It did smell amazing.

“It was fine,” Roman said. “The bus driver was really nice, and I got a window seat.” He flipped over the plantains he was cooking. “Pat and Logan dropped me off,” he added, smiling a little. “They were waving goodbye even as we were pulling away.”

“They seem like good friends,” his _mamá_ said approvingly.

“They are,” Roman agreed. He didn’t deserve them.

…

After dinner, which was only about a quarter of the way as awkward as Roman had feared it would be, Roman’s dad took his plate to the sink, squeezing his son’s shoulder on the way.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Roman said. He watched his dad as he walked into the kitchen, rinsed off his bowl and set it in the sink, and went to grab his coat.

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” said Roman.

“ _Chau_ ,” said his _mamá_.

The door closed, and Roman’s _mamá_ , who was loading the dishwasher, paused, clearly thinking about something. Roman watched her, starting to grow worried. As he’d expected, she turned to him.

“May I show you something?”

Roman, still sitting down at the table, shifted uncertainly; but he wasn’t going to refuse. “ _Claro, Mamá_.”

She nodded, and walked over to a different part of the kitchen counter. “Some months after you disappeared,” she said, retrieving something from a drawer, “we received a phone call.”

Roman frowned.

She hovered behind the counter, looking down at whatever it was she had taken out. “It was from the police department in a city called Clearwater. They said that they had received a 911 call from someone who reported anonymously that a group of men had attacked a man under a bridge.”

Roman forgot how to breathe.

He knew exactly what she was talking about.

Those men. Their laughter. Their accusations. A knife, gleaming in the night.

The thin scar just under his jaw felt like it had been outlined in ice. His ribs and his tongue ached in memory.

 _They’re gone. You got away_ , he reminded himself. _If they were going to find you and kill you, or send the police after you, it would have happened a long time ago._

He squeezed his hands together, and he waited.

His _mamá_ hadn’t seemed to notice his reaction, too distracted by her own thoughts. “They said that by the time they got the call, no one was there.” She took a shuddering breath. “That there was only garbage, and… blood.” There were tears in her eyes. “And this.”

She walked back to the table, holding a clear plastic bag. She sat down and slid the bag over to Roman. Inside was a broken phone, the corner of it bent, with cracks spread across the screen, and in a case broken in two. A few small pieces of glass that had come free sat at the bottom of the bag.

It was Roman’s old phone.

“They were able to get some of the data off of it, and find out it was yours.” She let out a shaky exhale. “The police returned it to us because it technically belonged to your dad.”

Roman stared down at the phone.

“This is all we had, for nearly five years,” she said. “We told the police to look for you, but they said that there was nothing they could do. We went to Clearwater ourselves, for a week, to try to find you… but we couldn’t.” She paused for a second, apparently decided against saying something, then continued, “We were afraid that… that they had” —she swore in Spanish—“that they had _killed_ you, and… you were gone.”

“I left,” Roman murmured. “I couldn’t stay; I….” He shook his head. The why didn’t matter. “ _Mamá_ , I’m sorry.”

His _mamá_ looked at him. “May I ask what happened?”

Roman subconsciously rubbed a hand across his jaw, over the scar there. “It’s not important,” he said. “Some jerks decided to mess with me, because I was there, and they could. But I’m okay. It was a long time ago.”

“ _Cariño_ … I did want to know that, but I meant….”

Roman looked away. She meant why he had disappeared in the first place, of course. How he had ended up homeless, and why he hadn’t tried to ask for help before it was well past too late.

He’d already told Logan and Patton most of the story, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell his _family_. Especially since he suspected that—assuming they believed him—they would think it was their fault, if they knew some of the details. He’d only told them the basics up until then—the fact that Saint Gabriel had retracted their offer of admission, that Roman hadn’t wanted to tell his parents, and that he’d run out of money after leaving home and ended up on the street. But they didn’t know much more than that about the reasons _why_ that had happened in the first place. Or why he’d been so against telling them about being in trouble.

The seconds were ticking by, and Roman still hadn’t said anything.

She studied his face for a long moment, as if deciding whether to push the issue, or to let it go. Finally, she nodded to herself, and she took his hands in hers. “When I heard your voice on the phone, I was so sure it was a cruel joke. But it was really you. You are _here_.”

Roman’s eyes flicked back towards her, and he gave her a watery smile.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you again.”

“I thought you’d be furious with me,” Roman said, his voice cracking.

“I was,” she admitted. “You know that I was.”

Roman recalled their first phone call with a wince. There had been… quite a bit of yelling, on that call, once she’d been convinced that it was really him on the phone. He didn’t blame her, though. Five years was a long time to go without any word, especially since he had disappeared without any warning.

“But I love you, and your brother,” she said. “And that will not change, whatever your mistakes.”

Roman swallowed hard. A second or two passed in silence.

“…Could we have hot chocolate?” he asked.

“With cinnamon?”

“Yes, please.”

…

Roman stood in front of his old over-the-door mirror, staring at the loose folds of fabric that draped over his thin frame.

After his conversation with his _mamá_ , Roman had come upstairs to the guest room—to his room. Or to the room that eerily mimicked his room, anyway.

Simply to pass the time and definitely not as a way to nostalgically relive the past, and since all his old things were right there, he decided to try on a few of his old clothes and see if they still fit how they used to.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t.

Well, it wasn’t that they didn’t _fit_ , exactly. Technically, they still fit. But they were a lot looser than Roman remembered them being. The pants he had on might not have stayed up if it weren’t for the belt he wore.

Roman put his hands in the pockets, frowning.

He wondered how this outfit would have fit during the worst days of his homelessness. There had been some… rough times.

He’d never been very good at being homeless.

Roman shook his head, deciding not to dwell on that. He was supposed to be moving on with his life, wasn’t he? He wasn’t homeless anymore, and he wasn’t alone. He had Logan, and Patton, and Val, and his parents. He was fine. The past didn’t matter anymore.

He pulled the shirt back over his head and threw it on the bed with a bit more vehemence than was strictly required. Instead, he picked up the one he’d had on before, one that Logan and Patton had gotten him, and pulled it back on. He changed back into his better-fitted jeans, moved the discarded shirt, and sat down on the bed. He stared for a long moment at the still-open drawer of the dresser, and the neatly folded clothes within.

A thought came to him, and he got back up, looking in the closet. It probably wasn’t there, but just in case, Roman figured there was no harm in checking. He stood on his tip-toes, searching.

His old duffel bag sat on the shelf, just about where it would have been in Roman’s old room. Roman snatched it and pulled it down.

Maybe his old clothes were rather loose; and he didn’t particularly want some of the old t-shirts emblazoned with logos for bands he’d never been a fan of in the first place; but he could still wear most of the clothes. And his parents had said that he could take whatever he wanted from the room.

Roman unzipped the duffel bag and started stuffing clothes in. Even if they were too big now, they might fit better eventually. And for every shirt he could keep from his old things, that was one less shirt he would have to buy for himself later on (or worse, have bought for him).

The half-full duffel bag joined the small blue suitcase on the floor, and Roman went to bed. He would have expected to lie there, awake, for hours, overthinking the next day; but he fell asleep too fast.

…

It turned out that Roman’s parents had gone ahead and made plans for what they and Roman would do over the long weekend. It seemed that they really wanted to make up for lost time, judging by the packed days.

Saturday morning, they went to the local park, revisiting old haunts that Roman hadn’t seen in a long time. The duck pond, the reservoir, the fountain, the old trees and picnic tables where the family used to have picnics when Roman and his brother were kids.

Almost all of the meals Roman had that weekend were homemade—save for when they stopped for ice cream at the mall, or Saturday evening, when Roman’s dad insisted that they go to Olive Garden to celebrate. Apparently he’d gotten a gift card a while back and was looking forward to using it. In any case, all of the meals were rather large. Roman’s _mamá_ made so much food, it was as if she were trying to get her son to gain back all the weight he’d lost over the years within just that one weekend.

…

On Sunday, they were planning to go to the zoo. Roman came downstairs to find that both of his parents were already there, presumably waiting for him. His dad must have come early, so that they could get out the door and have more time at the zoo. Except… something seemed off. They each had plates of breakfast set out in front of them, but the food appeared almost untouched. Roman paused, wondering what was going on. Clearly, he was missing something.

His _mamá_ looked like she was trying not to cry. His dad looked like he was trying to decide whether to be horrified or enraged.

Roman considered just going back upstairs, and “sleeping in” until whatever was going on was over. He took a hesitant step back.

“Roman.”

Too late.

His dad had spotted him, and was beckoning him over. Roman very reluctantly shuffled nearer.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” his _mamá_ said.

Roman glanced between them. “What’s going on?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t regret the question too much.

His parents glanced at each other. His _mamá_ looked slightly guilty.

His dad cleared his throat. “Your _mamá_ , ah… told me some new information,” he said.

“He needed to know,” she added.

Why did Roman feel like he was about to get in trouble?

“She told me what you told her. About the phone, and Clearwater.”

“…But I didn’t tell her anything,” Roman said, frowning.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t appear happy with that impulsive response.

“You told her enough,” his dad said.

Roman stared between them. All he had told them was that some jerks had been mean to him, and that he had left the city afterwards to get away from them. How was that any new information? They had already known that his phone had been left behind after some guys had attacked him, and….

Wait.

His _mamá_ had said “a man”. She had said a group of men had attacked “ _a man_ ”.

Roman gripped the back of the nearest chair.

No. They couldn’t have thought….

“You thought I was one of the guys who attacked someone?” he said, his voice like a dry desert breeze.

“No, _mijo_ , no—” 

“Yes, you did!” Roman said, taking a step back. He stared at his dad with wide eyes. “You did, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t know _what_ had happened,” his dad said. “We didn’t know anything, or what to think.”

Roman tried to speak, failed, and shook his head.

A long silence fell, and then his _mamá_ said, “Perhaps… we had almost hoped you were. It was better than thinking you had been….”

His dad sighed. “We’d rather you had been a criminal than dead,” he reluctantly admitted.

“Well, I’m not dead,” Roman said bitterly.

“No, you’re not,” his _mamá_ said. Roman noticed with a sinking heart that she was crying now.

His dad leaned forward. “Roman, what happened? Who were those people who attacked you? Why were you there in the first place?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut.

“Please. Something happened. Why would those people attack you for no reason?”

Roman’s nails bit into his hands. Maybe it wasn’t on purpose, but his dad was making it sound like it was automatically _his_ fault he was attacked. (Which, okay, maybe it was, but the assumption still _hurt_ ).

“Roman—”

“I messed up, okay?!” Roman cried, fisting his hands in his hair. “I messed up, and I was—I was just hungry, okay? And those guys found me, and they—they had a knife, what was I supposed to do? I just—I was just trying to—” Roman turned away, his breaths coming in heavy gasps. He kept stammering, hardly knowing what he was saying, just trying to say that _it wasn’t his fault_ and that he was _sorry_ and he’d just _run away like a coward_ because he had _no choice_ and _why did they even care about something that happened so long ago_ and _why_ would they ever think he’d been one of those _thugs_ —

He was suddenly crushed in a hug.

Roman’s stammering broke off, and he buried his face in his _mamá_ ’s shoulder.

“Breathe, _cariño_ , please,” she murmured. “ _Todo está bien, te prometo_.”

She held him like that until he had mostly calmed down, and then she gently led him to the living room, where she sat him down on the couch and wrapped him in a blanket, taking her place beside him. She put a hand on his back, occasionally murmuring reassurances.

But his dad kept staring at him.

“This isn’t really news, is it?” Roman said eventually, breaking the silence and steadfastly ignoring the way his voice threatened to give out. “I already told you I was homeless. I messed up. Why is it any big shock that I messed up again?” _And again, and again, and again._

“You just said that you were attacked, with a _knife_ ,” his dad said. “You could have died!”

Roman shrank into his blanket. “I didn’t.”

“But you could have. And I’m sure there’s other things that happened that you’re not even telling us about—God, _five years_. It’s been _five years_. Roman, why didn’t you just talk to us? We could have helped you! You could have stopped all of this before it started.”

His _mamá_ looked at her ex-husband. “James, stop."

Roman worked his jaw. “I did try to tell you, but….”

“But what?”

“But you didn’t believe me! I tried to tell you, I tried to tell you I didn’t plagiarize, but you didn’t believe me. So why would you believe me about anything else? You already think I’m just like Remus.”

“Roman….”

“You do! You do. I know it’s true. _Mamá_ told me, but she didn’t have to.”

His dad’s eyes flicked to Roman’s _mamá_ , who closed her eyes in resignation. “She told you what?”

“That you were angry with me, that you said it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. She said that—that—that I probably ran off to get away from you guys and join a gang or something.”

“I didn’t say you’d joined a gang.”

“But I know what you think of me, what you’ve always thought of me. But, Dad, _I’m not him_. Please. I’m not Remus.”

“Roman, if you’re trying to say I don’t love you, that’s not true. I love you a lot. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care.”

“No—no, I know you _love_ me. You love him too. That’s not what this is about.” He looked away, swallowing painfully. “You love me, yeah, but you’ve never _trusted_ me. Not really.” He took a shaky breath. “And I just couldn’t… I could see the looks on your faces when I told you I wasn’t going to Saint Gabriel. I couldn’t.”

A long silence fell.

“I’m going upstairs,” Roman croaked. He got up, ignoring his _mamá_ ’s protests, and walked past his dad, who just stared at him, clearly still trying to figure out what to say. Roman didn’t give him that chance. He kept going, hurried up the stairs, and fled into his room. He quietly closed and locked the door, and sat down on the bed, staring at the floor, the blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

Morning turned to early afternoon. Roman didn’t leave his room. He heard voices occasionally. It sounded like his parents had decided to give him some space.

Finally, around 1 pm, he heard someone coming up the steps, and there was a knock on the door. It was his dad.

“Roman?” he asked through the door. “Please open up.”

Roman swallowed, not moving.

“Roman, I’m sorry.”

The floorboards creaked.

“I believe you,” he continued. “If you say you didn’t plagiarize, I believe you. Your _mamá_ does, too. We should have believed you before, and I’m sorry we didn’t. I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t come to us for help. And I’m sorry if we ever made you believe we didn’t think you were a good person. We’ve always known you were a good person.”

It was a little too late, but… it was something.

Roman unlocked the door and returned to the bed.

After a second, his dad hesitantly opened the door. He stepped inside, and silently sat down on the bed at Roman’s side.

Roman pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. His dad stared at one of Roman’s posters for a moment, clearly not actually taking it in, then turned to his son.

“…Were you hurt?” he asked softly.

Roman swallowed. “I’m okay now.”

His dad recognized that as a yes, of course. He sighed through his nose, working his jaw. “How badly?”

Roman hesitated, then tilted his head slightly and touched the inch-long scar just under his jaw. It was faded, but he knew his dad could see it.

“Is that from…?”

“Yeah.”

His dad swore. Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him swear like that before.

“Who were they?”

“There’s no point.”

“We could—”

“There’s no point,” Roman insisted tiredly. Even if they had any proof of who it was, and even if Roman knew more than one of their names, and even if it hadn’t already been four and a half years since the attack, there would be no point. It wouldn’t change anything. Not to mention that the whole reason it had happened to begin with was that Roman was a thief, and he could very well end up as the only one in trouble. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He could tell his dad wanted to argue further, but he let it go.

“Do you want to go back downstairs?” he asked instead. “We could just watch a movie. Have a lazy day. We can go to the zoo some other time.”

Roman bit his lip, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

His dad got up, and Roman followed him downstairs.

…

Things were better after that. Maybe that conversation hadn’t gone exactly how any of them would have chosen for it to go, but it was clear that they had needed to confront the elephant in the room.

Roman’s _mamá_ apologized, too, once he came downstairs, hugging him tightly and telling him that the only thing that mattered was that he was safe, now.

The rest of the day, they just watched old movies from their collection, and Roman’s _mamá_ played with his hair like she had done when he was very small.

The next day, they still didn’t go to the zoo—maybe a future visit, they decided—and instead went to the mall, where they had fun playing with the puppies at one of the pet stores; and Roman’s dad bought him a couple of books. “For on the bus on Monday,” he claimed, even though there were already books in Roman’s room.

Finally, and yet all too soon, the last day of Roman’s stay had come and gone.

A couple of hours before they had to leave for the bus station, Roman’s _mamá_ came to get him, and she led him downstairs, where his dad waited. His parents sat down at the table, gesturing for Roman to sit down across from them. Once he did, his _mamá_ placed her warm, calloused hands over his own. She opened her mouth, had a false start, then spoke.

“It has been wonderful, having you here for the past few days. I know that not everything was perfect, but I know that it will get better in time.” She took a deep breath. “Mijo, I know that you are planning to go home tonight… and I know that this is a lot to ask, but we were hoping, maybe… you might stay? Here, with us?”

There was a long silence. Roman didn’t know how to respond.

“If you want a week or two, so that your job has some warning, that’s okay,” his dad said, before adding, “We both want you here.”

Roman looked between them.

“…You want me to stay because you think I’m gonna screw up and end up homeless again or something, right?”

“No,” his _mamá_ said firmly. “We want you to stay because we love you. We have missed you, so, so much. We want a chance to try again.”

Roman fell silent again.

He thought of all that his parents had been trying to do these past few days. He thought of the cinnamon hot chocolate, the excursions and movie nights, the big family meals, the not-so-subtle attempts to spoil Roman, and the way his parents seemed to be pretending to still have the same relationship they had always had even though they had been divorced for years. He thought of the guest bedroom, carefully constructed to mirror his old one as exactly as possible. Like a snapshot into a former life. A former life that he couldn’t get back, whether he wanted to or not. And maybe that was okay. He had changed since then. Not necessarily all for the better, but not necessarily all for the worse, either. Going back, pretending he was the same Roman he had been in high school, wasn’t just wishful thinking. It wasn’t realistic; and even if he _could_ do that, it would be a move backwards.

“I think it’s best if I move on with my life,” he said finally. “It won’t do me any good to just go back and pretend the last five years never happened, that nothing’s changed.” He squeezed her hand. “I… I have a job now, and I really like living with Logan and Patton and Val.” And they _did_ want him to come back, he reminded himself. They did. He looked up at his dad. “I do still want to see you guys, though. I’d really like to keep calling you, and visit sometimes, if… if that’s okay.”

His _mamá_ looked sad, but she nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

His dad didn’t look surprised. He laid his hand over his son’s and his ex-wife’s.

Roman smiled shyly. “Plus, we never got to go to the zoo.”

…

When Roman went home, with Patton’s suitcase and his own duffel bag of clothes, Patton and Val came to pick him up. Logan was unfortunately at work, and he couldn’t make it.

As the bus pulled up to the curb, and Roman struggled to blink away his drowsiness (it was a long drive) he saw the pair at the front on the sidewalk. Val looked pretty relaxed, but Patton looked like he was vibrating with apprehension. He was talking to Val, who looked like she was trying to reassure him that everything was fine.

Roman picked up his things, thanked the bus driver, and was one of the first people off the bus.

Patton wormed his way closer, while Roman made his way away from the crowds. As soon as they met, Patton latched onto Roman like a koala bear.

“How’d it go?” Val asked, while Patton was busy trying to crush Roman in a hug.

“It went okay,” Roman said, putting his arms around Patton. He took a deep breath and let it out, smiling. “It went okay.”

Val reached out, and her fingers just barely touched his sleeve before she let her arm fall. “I’m glad.”

Patton finally let go for them to head to the car, already pestering Roman with questions about how his visit had gone, and if he needed to fight anyone or not.

Roman smiled, and he told him about the good parts of his visit. He was sure Patton already knew that there had been hiccups—how could there not have been?—but Roman wanted to focus on what had gone right.

…

On Tuesday, Roman went back to work. He was early, as was becoming his custom, but he showed up only a few minutes before Thomas did. His manager looked perfectly fine, now, so it appeared that whatever had kept him at home for two days the week before had passed. He leaned on his car for a moment before he came in, as always, but he seemed okay.

“Hey, Roman,” he said as he came in, pinning his name tag in place.

“Hey,” Roman responded. He wasn’t sure whether it was bad manners or not to ask his manager if he was feeling better, especially since three days had passed. And he didn’t want Thomas to misinterpret anything. So he didn’t. “How was your weekend?” he asked instead.

“It was good,” Thomas said. “How was yours?”

Roman shrugged. “It was… interesting. But good.”

Just then, the door opened, and Roman glanced up to see Virgil standing there.

Virgil, who was wearing a skirt, and a name tag that said “Rose”.

Otherwise, the outfit under Virgil’s Sanders Café uniform consisted of the barista’s typically emo attire. Black leggings, combat boots, purple nail polish, a distressed long-sleeve shirt, and purple piercings. But instead of jeans, Virgil wore a knee-length, lacy black skirt.

The barista stalked forward, head held high, as if daring anyone to say anything. Thomas just smiled and called out a greeting.

Roman kept glancing at his coworker throughout their shift that day. Virgil was surely aware of it, and maybe it was rude, but Roman couldn’t really help himself. He—She? They?—never said anything about it, but did seem more stiff than usual. But at least Virgil wasn’t being openly hostile. That seemed to have stopped after Roman’s… embarrassing incident, on Friday. Virgil didn’t even comment when Roman bumped into an open, quarter-full milk carton and spilled it across the counter. Thomas noticed too, but he didn’t seem inclined to intervene, instead serving customers like normal while Roman cleaned it up.

Roman glanced at Virgil’s skirt, and remembered several days before, when he’d tried to break the ice with Virgil by making a joke about the “Mary Lee” name tag that the barista wore at the time.

…Roman might have really f*cked up.

He had to know if his guess was correct, but he wasn’t about to ask in front of so many customers, or in font of Thomas.

Finally, there was a break in the crowd; Thomas went in the back for a break; and Roman awkwardly walked over to his coworker.

Virgil tensed immediately, looking suspicious. “What?”

Roman flinched slightly at the tone. “Sorry, I just, um….” He glanced down at Virgil’s skirt. “I just wondered…” he trailed off, gesturing at Virgil, at the skirt and the name tag and the admittedly gorgeous purple lipstick. “Are you…?” God, he was awful at this. He knew exactly what he wanted to ask, but what if he was wrong? What if Virgil got offended at him for even asking? Virgil was already rather volatile to begin with. He didn’t want to break their fragile truce.

Virgil looked unimpressed at Roman’s garbled attempts at a question, arms crossed, an eyebrow cocked as if daring Roman to continue. That wasn’t helpful.

“Are you… Are you a he? Can I call you he? Or is something else… better?” Roman finally got out. He was pretty sure he was the color of a tomato.

Virgil stared at him, looking ready to chew him up and spit him out if he reacted the wrong way. “She,” Virgil finally said in a clipped voice. “It’s a ‘she’ day.”

“Oh,” Roman said. He let out a breath, relieved at not being screamed at. “Okay. Do you want to be called Rose, then, or….?”

Virgil glanced down at the name tag on her lapel, and she actually laughed. “No, no. Virgil will do. This is just one of my collection.”

“Okay. So… if today is a ‘she’ day, does that mean not every day is?”

Virgil pursed her lips. “If you’re asking if you can get away with calling me ‘he’ or ‘they’ every day, the answer’s no.”

“What if I’m not asking that?”

“…Then no, not every day is.” She looked back up then and seemed to be studying Roman’s face. There was a mixture of suspicion and something else in her eyes. Roman shifted uncomfortably. Before either of them could say anything more, the bell over the door rang, and they both snapped back to attention and went back to work.

Various times throughout the remainder of their shift, Roman could feel Virgil’s eyes on him.

Finally, two o’clock came and went, and Virgil and Roman were both in the back, getting ready to leave. Roman took the opportunity to approach his fellow barista. Virgil looked up from her phone as he approached, but didn’t do anything to discourage him from speaking. So Roman cleared his throat.

“Hey, um… about that joke I made a while back, about the “Mary Lee” name tag. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t know you were… that you weren’t a guy. It was just my stupid attempt to talk with you. I was just fishing for something to say. I’m sorry.”

Virgil stuck her phone in her pocket. “It’s fine,” she said.

“Is it? Because that was pretty sucky of me, I’d say.”

She sighed. “You didn’t know. But I’d appreciate if you _didn’t_ make jokes like that in the future.”

“I won’t. I promise. And if I ever do something stupid again, please tell me.” It would be a lot better than days of hostility without explanation, at any rate.

“Deal.”

Roman felt relief wash over him.

“So…” Virgil said, “how was your family thing?”

“It was good,” Roman said. “We didn’t watch _Lord of the Rings_ or play any video games, though.”

“No? Dang. Weekend wasted.” Virgil shook her head. “Please tell me you at least slept in.”

Roman laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


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